Memories of the first time I had shown it to Luna come to me unbidden. She was so beautiful as she walked barefoot among the flowers, encouraging me to do the same. Our fingers draggedalong the delicate petals, the floral fragrance pungent in the air around us, as we talked and laughed. It was nearly a perfect moment—until my father had found us there and punished me for it. For showing any ounce of joy.For having a friend.
I close my eyes and grit my teeth, pushing the memories back down. When another knock sounds on my door, I have to fight the urge to shatter the tea set across from me as I scream, “What?”
“Your Majesty, the council is ready for you,” Simon, my closest advisor, says through the door.
Swallowing down my annoyance, I walk over to the large standing mirror leaning up against one of the stone walls. I hate the stone—hate how easily it brings me back to that damp, confined space beneath the castle where my father often locked me.
When I became king, I made them cover as much of it as possible with tapestries, paintings, and colorful fabrics embroidered with my sigil. Anything to hide the way that the cold gray seemed to penetrate every inch of this place. I even hired artists to paint directly on it—fantastical scenes of faraway lands and mythical creatures. But it never seemed to stay hidden, the stone’s true color finding a way to peek through any of my attempts to muffle it.
My hand smooths down my vest, my attire not showing a single wrinkle. I tilt my head, inspecting my hair to make sure not one strand is out of place and that my beard is neatly trimmed. Satisfied with my appearance, I open the door and join Simon out in the hall. The man was an advisor to my brother during hisbriefreign as king, his age only showing through the silver strands mixing with black in his hair. After Conrad’s death, he was eager to show his allegiance to me, even taking a blood oath without question.
“Has there been any word on the return of the guards?” I ask, keeping my gaze forward as we stride down an ornate gold and navy blue adorned hallway. Rugs in the same colors cushion our steps, none of the gray stone visible in this corridor. To my right, golden sconces hold flame gems, the sun shining in through small windows on my left charging them with daylight. I can’t be entirely sure, but I believe I have every single flame gem known to exist in the Mortal Kingdom now fixed to some wall in this castle.Excluding the one that ended up in Rhea’s tower.
“No word yet, Your Majesty. But if you sent the King’s Guard to the Mage Kingdom border, we wouldn’t expect them to be back until today at the earliest.”
I force out a breath at his explanation. He isn’t wrong, but two weeks is a long time to wait for my future bride to make her way back to me. I have spent the entire time since her abduction working out how to ensure that, once she is back, she will never leave again. I thought about forcing her to take a blood oath, but without knowing the extent of her magic,I didn’t want to chance that she could work around it. As it appeared Flynn had. If that was even his real name. I had combed through every detail that my royal army had on the man, and somehow, he had managed to fake everything about himself well enough that no one questioned him. I would have beheaded every single person responsible for allowing him to infiltrate my kingdom if I could have, but the royal council wouldn’t approve such a thing, and I need them on my side for what I am planning to do once I have Rhea back.
I lead us into the large room that houses meetings of the Royal Council. Vaulted ceilings stretch high overhead, coming to a point and making the gray stone impossible to totally cover here—though I have tried my best to do so. The room is regal, full of my ancestors’ history and our refined tastes. Golden rugs cover every square inch of the floor, and woven tapestries, thelargest in the entire realm, stretch from corner to corner. The images on them are more realistic—paintings surrounding us of the day the realms were separated by the Spell and the war that had ignited it.
A long wooden table is centered in the room, a large candelabra alight in its middle. Though the sun shines in from the many windows on the back wall, there is an ambience that only a dancing flame can provide. One of menace and deeply rooted unease. A subtle reminder for these men before me that, though I may heed their guidance now and again, my word is rule—is law.And no one will stand in the way of me getting what I want.
Simon joins the five other men already standing at the table while I take my time walking to the grande chair set at the head, a hand in my pocket as I do so. My fingers clutch the handkerchief with my initials embroidered on it—the remnants ofherblood still woven within the fabric. It is vile to not have washed it, but it felt like I finally had a piece of her to keep with me at all times. I didn’t want to let it go—lethergo. The men stand at attention, their chins dipped ever so slightly in respect as they wait until I take my seat before following suit.
“Good morning, gentlemen. What updates do you have for me?”
Leopold clears his throat, his blue eyes lifting to mine as he begins to speak about the Cruel Death. I have to force myself to listen, to not let my frustration at being unable to quash that which jeopardizes my sovereignty drown out every word he is saying. “Unfortunately, a total of one hundred men and women have died from the Cruel Death in the past month.”
My eyes widen imperceptibly as I level him with a glare. “Were there any commonalities between them? Anything at all?”
“Besides being close in age and the fact that the majority are from smaller cities outside of Vitour, nothing else.”
Fucking hell.The room is silent as I rub my fingers over my jaw, my other hand still clutching the bloodstained fabric in my pocket. The numbers are getting worse, the death rate growing, despite my every attempt to quell the sickness. I hadn’t cared until it started taking men that were of age to join the guard. Mortals don’t have magic, so our strength lies in our numbers, and the Cruel Death was just that—cruel in the way it was slowly thinning us out.
“There is another matter we must speak of, Your Majesty,” Paul, the oldest advisor and arguably my biggest critic, croaks from his seat at the far end. Tension lines his withered face, his glassy light brown eyes narrowing.
“By all means, Paul, don’t make me wait forever.” I gesture with my free hand.
“It is with regard to the princess. And the resources you sent to retrieve her. With our numbers already dwindling, do you think it wise to have sent more than half the guard to scour the kingdom for her?”
Simon, in his seat next to Paul, smirks at the question. I force the corner of my lips to lift as well, the other men adjusting subtly in their chairs because of it.
“She is royalty, is she not? Why wouldn’t I send men out to rescue a kidnapped princess?” It was the lie I had told everyone, that her guard had kidnapped her. None of them know the secret of what mages can do—how they can pass through the Spell without consequence. The members of the King’s Guard are sworn in blood to obey my every command, including that they not speak of any of the missions I send them on.
“I suppose that I mean why waste resources getting her back? She is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. She matters not—”
“She matters to me!” I yell, slamming a fist on the table. “I will not have you question what I value.”
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I simply meant that she represents a threat to your crown. She is the true heir. What if she is found and contests your rule—”
“You do not know her as I do, Paul. She will come back, and she will do so willingly.” His bald head shines with sweat, the look of it churning my stomach, so I turn my focus back on the other men around me. “And when she returns, she will stand behind me while I continue leading this kingdom—as my bride.”
While most of the men do a good job at hiding their reaction to my reveal, a few of them cannot help the way their jaws slacken in response. Paul is the only one dumb enough to spew his thoughts.
“Your—your bride, Your Majesty? But she is your—”
“That is enough. Any more discussion of her will result in the immediate termination of your position.” And the loss of his life, but he knows the truth of those words without needing them spoken. “Surely, then, you have said everything you intend to on the matter?” My hand lazily gestures towards Paul, my face once again relaxed into an easy one of boredom.
“Of course, Your Majesty. My apologies again.”
